


With My Whole Heart

by todisturbtheuniverse



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Angst, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-14 23:15:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13018242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/todisturbtheuniverse/pseuds/todisturbtheuniverse
Summary: Cassandra goes about the business of getting Josephine out of her engagement, with some help. For a tumblr prompt: "I need you to forgive me."





	With My Whole Heart

Cassandra did best when she practiced her words, and for this, she had practiced her words very well.

"No, this sounds too stiff," Leliana said. It was late, and there were plenty of other things for her to be doing, but in the name of friendship, she pulled a candle closer and crossed through the offending phrase as she considered a replacement. And in the name of friendship, Cassandra felt overwhelming gratitude.

"I don't want to sound...overly passionate," she replied, because better to voice her concerns now than to find later that she ought to have done so, and hadn't.

"I think better to err on that side than the other." Leliana tapped the pen against her lips, her eyes unfocused, clearly deep in thought. "This other match is a matter of business, logic. It will appeal to what they really want most for Josie—love, companionship."

"Is that what they want?"

"I have never heard you doubt so hard as you have the last few days."

Cassandra's stomach squirmed. Truth be told, she never _had_ doubted near as hard as she had the last few days. Her heart—and her mind, as well—were in agreement: Josephine did not want to be tangled in this engagement to some lord she barely knew. It was some other, outside force, something that Cassandra had not been able to identify, which told her that it was better for her to bow out. To allow Josephine her machinations to untangle the whole thing, if she could. To not interfere.

But at the same time, she could not forget the tormented look on the face that she had come to love so dearly. The tears barely withheld, the hands that had nearly clung to hers even as they released her. If there was anything she could do to free Josephine of that—of the pain and anxiety this predicament was clearly causing her—then she needed to _act_.

"I don't want to put Josephine at odds with her family," she said at last. "She's...close with them. I would not jeopardize that."

"Trust me," Leliana said. "This will not jeopardize that."

Cassandra cast a glance over the letter, the phrase that had been underwhelming, and they both lapsed back into silence to consider it.

"And this will not jeopardize us, either?" Cassandra ventured after a moment, because if the words were kept in her chest any longer, she thought they might crack her ribs wide open.

Leliana wrinkled her nose. "It's a letter, not a duel in a Val Royeaux courtyard. Which you should still consider, by the way. It would be swift. Lord Otranto cannot possibly match your skill with a blade."

"Swift, yes. But Josephine already made her feelings about such duels clear."

"And you will not violate them. Yes." There was a grudging respect in Leliana's face. "You are well-suited for one another."

Cassandra pulled the vellum back to her side of the table, picking up the other pen. "What about this?"

She squeezed the line in beneath the crossed-out sentence, and then both she and Leliana bent over it to read through one more time.

_Dear Lord and Lady Montilyet,_

_Please allow me to introduce myself: I am Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker of the Chantry, and one of your daughter's colleagues within the Inquisition. I do not write to you on matters of business, however, but of matters that trouble my heart._

_I am sure that Josephine's letters will arrive only slightly ahead of mine. You will have read by now that she wishes to untangle herself from the advantageous engagement you have arranged for her, as delicately as possible. I am not privy to those letters, so I do not know if she has given you reason, but I will provide at least one: recently, she and I have taken up a romance, and we do not wish to be parted._

_I cannot offer the prestige, connections, or opportunities that Lord Otranto likely can. I do not consider myself lacking, but I have eschewed my ties to wealth in favor of a life of service. I cannot, in good faith, even ask for Josephine's hand; I would not make such a proposal without her knowledge, and our courtship is young, still. But I love her deeply, with my whole heart, and I would ask for the opportunity to allow that to grow and flourish._

_I regret that I cannot make this request to you in person, as would only be proper, but I know that the time I am asking for may well be limited by our success here. In good conscience, I cannot leave my duty to the Inquisition. But please consider it my duty to Josephine, as well—to do everything in my power to secure her future, even as she does the same for me._

_Yours,_

_Cassandra Pentaghast_

"I still think we really ought to play up the Hero of Orlais business," Leliana sighed, sitting back. "'A life of service' really does not do it justice."

"Humbling myself a little bit in light of such a weighty request doesn't seem like such a failing."

"I suppose not. Write out the final, then, and I'll get it there with the fastest bird I have."

Cassandra pulled a fresh sheet of vellum toward her and paused, pen poised, to look up at Leliana. "Thank you."

Leliana waved this off, but she also said, "Consider us even," in tones of great regret.

Cassandra did not track debts in the way that Leliana did, but when she considered the imaginary tally, she did not think that Leliana's kindness could truly be repaid—regardless the outcome of the letter.

* * *

Then, there was only the wait.

Cassandra did not dare follow the Inquisitor out to the field for the duration of it; she did not want to risk that she would be gone when Josephine received the news, any news. Leliana offered aid for this, too, convincing the Inquisitor that something very useful but not very dangerous needed to be done in Crestwood, and wouldn't require the skill of anyone particularly prodigious.

"It will feel strange, you not coming with me," a voice remarked, and Cassandra turned in her seat to see Katrina standing at the top of the stairs. "Leliana claims that there isn't anything awful waiting to gut me, but you really never know these days, do you?"

Guilt stirred in Cassandra's gut. "If you would feel more comfortable—"

"No, no, no, I think you should stay _right here_. Just in case something...happens." Katrina shrugged; a coy smile played around her mouth. She could not ever hope to be as good at lying as Bull; it was something that Cassandra had appreciated about her from the very beginning.

"Leliana told you," Cassandra said, even though she knew full well that Leliana wouldn't.

"Told me what?" Katrina said, quite breezily. "No, I'm sure Leliana told me nothing. But I'm also quite sure that she and Bull have some kind of strange...spy competition...that they're covertly running against one another. And perhaps some information that he discovered in the course of this game won me a bet." If she were a bird, she'd have fluffed her feathers up with pride.

"Perhaps," Cassandra agreed, very dryly.

Katrina dropped her attempt at airiness; her face grew quite serious, a semblance of the one she'd worn all through their trials at Haven. "I hope good news comes back, Cassandra. Truly. I know that it would make Josephine very happy. She doesn't like this anymore than you do."

That much _was_ good news, but still it pained her. They had not seen one another in a week, now, except for swift glances across the main keep, quickly cut short as one or the other hurried away.

"I would still follow you to Crestwood," Cassandra said, eventually, "if you need me. But truthfully, I don't think that you do."

Katrina smiled at that, nothing coy or flippant but utterly genuine. "I'll manage. And if I don't, I'll have Bull."

She trotted off down the stairs; Cassandra listened to her go, calling out the occasional greeting as she passed workers she knew. It warmed her, to see how the Inquisitor had come into her own. A reluctant kind of confidence, yes, but confidence all the same.

For the first time, Cassandra wished that she could borrow some.

* * *

The note, borne by one of Leliana's fastest runners, came several days later, just when Cassandra was sitting down to sharpen her sword: _Return message from Lord and Lady Montilyet_ , it said. _Just arrived_.

Cassandra considered the merits of waiting, perhaps for Josephine to come to her and demand an explanation, but she had never won a battle by running away from it. She stood, thanked the runner, and marched up toward the main keep, her heart pounding hard in her ribs.

There were a few dignitaries, milling around the main keep, unsupervised by Josephine; when they caught sight of Cassandra, one or two made an attempt to catch her eye, but she kept her gaze fixed on the door that was her goal. Before any of them could make more aggressive moves toward flagging her down, she was through the door and shutting it behind her.

She paused in that passage, listening. No noise came from Josephine's office. She wondered if she had even opened the missive yet, if she had even read it. If they had sent it before or after Cassandra's message had arrived.

She braced herself and knocked; she almost forgot herself, almost called out Josephine's name, and caught herself just in time. "Ambassador," she said instead, just loudly enough to be heard through the door.

There was a hurried intake of breath, but Josephine didn't answer. Cassandra pushed through the door and entered, anyway.

Josephine stood at her desk. A nice brass tube—with the Montilyet crest on it, in fact—had fallen to the floor at her feet. One hand held a letter, whose contents she couldn't seem to look away from; the other hand covered her mouth.

Cassandra had practiced the words she would say in this moment, over and over again. _I need you to forgive me_ , she'd thought she would say. _For doing even this much without your knowledge, I need you to—_

But instead she said, "I'm sorry."

Josephine did not look up, did not look away from the letter and at Cassandra, instead. Hesitantly, Cassandra moved a few steps deeper into the room, passing the fireplace.

"You wrote to them," Josephine said. Cassandra could not make out her tone, whether the quiver was just shock or anger—or whether it was grief, because the answer had been the wrong one. Whatever the _wrong_ answer might entail.

"I wanted to make my intentions clear." Cassandra didn't move any closer. "I wanted them to know that there was an alternative."

What did the reply say? Cassandra was left in suspense, hanging desperately onto hope, but Josephine set aside the first sheet of paper and held up the second. She finally looked at Cassandra, her dark eyes sparkling with unshed tears, her fingers trembling. Cassandra recognized her own handwriting.

"Tell me if you didn't mean it," Josephine said, willfully, because she _was_ willful; it was something that Cassandra loved about her. "Tell me if it was just a...a plot, to help me, if you didn't—"

"I don't make a habit of lying," Cassandra said. She might as well have chosen the duel; she was sweating enough for it, her heart beating hard enough for it. "Surely you've noticed I'm terrible at it."

Josephine laughed; it sounded as if it surprised even her. "Yes. I know that. You are."

In case it bore repeating, Cassandra said, "I love you. And if an offering as paltry as that letter could allow you to be with me again, then I would write dozens more and agonize over every one."

Josephine, still clutching Cassandra's letter, ran forward to close the gap between them and threw herself at Cassandra who, thankfully, was prepared for the unexpected and caught her. They had really only been forced apart for a couple of weeks, but it now felt like much longer; how could Cassandra have forgotten how wonderful it was to have Josephine in her arms, half-laughing, half-crying, and hiccupping in the middle of all of it?

She wanted to press Josephine for what the answer had been, but she did not want to break such a lovely, sunlit moment—and it could. The answer could.

"It was going to get done," Josephine said, drawing back just enough to look up into Cassandra's face, her arms still around her shoulders, "and I could have done it, but—oh, Maker, this is so much easier."

"Then…?"

"They called the engagement off," Josephine said, smiling a little wildly now; it suited her. "Lord Otranto quite understood. Antivans are very fond of love stories."

She rose up on her toes and kissed Cassandra, still smiling, and Cassandra, filled with a very profound relief at how well it had all gone, wrapped her arms around Josephine and lifted her into the air, kissing her back.

"I love you," Josephine said, in the brief moments when they broke apart for air. "With my whole heart—I could not have said it better."

Cassandra did not think she had ever been paid so high a compliment.


End file.
